Broken and Mended
by Le Feuilly
Summary: In the aftermath of the Reichenbach Fall, Sherlock Holmes travels to America, only to be forced to return back to London as his friend suffers. I'm no good a summaries but please give this a chance! Rated M to be safe


**Hello, thegirlwiththebrowneyes here :)**

**So, I don't own Sherlock or pretty much anything here (except for Sandra, she's miiiiiiine :P). Note that this post-Reichenbach and situated at the beginning of Series Three. So, it's a reunion and then a couple of weird adventures or something like that. But please give this a chance :)**

**~thegirlwiththebrowneyes~**

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"-In the aftermath of the Buckingham Palace riot, many are pondering on England's future -"

Sandra turned off her vintage radio, eyeing the black haired man standing in front of her apartment's French Windows, his fingers moving swiftly across his violin, like a couple waltzing. He had stayed in her apartment, situated in the Upper East Side of New York, for a year now. He had been found by her when he was playing his violin on the streets, a Prussian blue scarf hanging around his pale and thin neck. She had brought him into her home, fed him and gave him a room to stay in.

A day later, he told her the story of why he had to flee England, his homeland; he had broken his friend's heart to save him. And though it was a painful experience, it had to be done.

The man was a hero in Sandra's eyes; he had given up everything to clean up his life and start afresh in a little known country called the United States of America. He also started to lose his accent (which Sandra had hoped wouldn't happen – the man's voice was like a jaguar hidden inside a cello).

The mysterious man was called Sherlock Holmes, the World's only Consulting Detective who was believed to be dead by the media and many of his friends.

Sherlock edited his score and began playing the same piece he had been playing for three days in a row, with no break in between. Sandra stood up and walked towards him, plucking his bow and violin out of his hands.

Sherlock turned around, pouting like a child (which, socially, was true). "Sandra, Give it back!"

She didn't say a word as she turned her back to him, walked calmly towards her fridge, setting down the violin and bow on the island before bringing out a platter of fresh oysters and a glass of water. "I'm not giving you back your violin until you eat," she sighed, exasperated. "It's been three days Sherlock, and I need to talk to you."

"Fine, but give me a lemon first. I can't eat raw seafood without it." Sherlock snapped at her, before sitting himself down on a dining chair.

Sandra returned five minutes later, with a bowl filled to the brim with halved lemons in one hand and a pastrami and Swiss cheese sandwich in the other. Munching on it, she watched as Sherlock began to shuck the oysters, pour lemon juice on them and savour the taste of fresh seafood that would linger in his mouth. He licked his cherry red and chapped lips, smiling before attacking the rest. He would never admit to anybody else that his favourite meal was, in fact, raw oysters. As soon as Sandra had finished her sandwich, she cleaned up, setting his violin and bow carefully on the sofa. She rejoined Sherlock, sitting herself down on a chair before speaking out.

"You know, Sherlock. I hate to break it to you but I think it's time you went home."

Sherlock looked up, stopping his meal. "You aren't serious, are you?" He spoke, his tone much softer.

"I'm dead serious Sherly (that was her nickname for him). And it's because of John." She turned around, picking up a copy of _The New York Times _before throwing it on the middle of the dining table. And there, situated on the front, bolded and enlarged, were a couple of words:

**Attempted suicide of disgraced and dead Consulting Detective's companion**

Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks, completely ignoring the platter of oysters that lay in front of him. He closed his eyes, savouring the peace that Sandra had given him to take in the news. Sandra closed her eyes too, trying to picture the pain that was leaking out of his heart (if the man did, metaphorically, have a heart).

She put her warm hand over his, causing his eyes to open. "Sherlock, it's time for you to go back to London. It's time; John needs you, desperately."

He nodded, before walking towards his bedroom and beginning to pack. Sandra sighed; she didn't want him to leave but it had to be done – the poor man's friend was falling into a deep, dark abyss that was depression and he needed to be dragged out, ASAP.

Sandra knew she would have to come with him to London and see that he would arrive safely. It was necessary. But to help John, she would have to introduce him to her best friend who could help him regain strength. She grabbed her iPhone 4S, calling a number that had been used several times the last time she went to London.

"Hello, Mary? Yeah, it's San. Yeah. I'm fine, you? Oh, great. But anyway, listen – I need you to do some counseling for Sherlock Holmes' buddy, John Watson. Look, I known that you aren't a counselor or anything but it would be great if you could help. Really, you will? Oh my god, thank you! Yes, Sherlock Holmes is currently under my protection. If you could meet me in Heathrow in two days' time or so that would be great. Thanks! 'Kay, bye and take care!" Sandra sighed with relief; Mary Morstan would be a great support to John, she was sure of it.

And Sherlock Holmes would finally be a lot happier.

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**Comment! Like! Add to favourites! And Chapter Two will be up soon (it looks short but it was pretty long in Word ...)**


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